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November

What kind of times are these, whento talk about trees is almost a crimebecause it implies silence about so many horrors?—Bertolt Brecht, “To Those Born Later”

My sons told me that November was comingbut I didn’t believe them. There’s no wayit will ever be November, I said. We’re notthat stupid. Not here, this is America.

Now, when I meet up with my friends we don’ttalk much about November even though it’sNovember and that’s all we used to talk about.We talk about sports and our kids and our work.Before November, we prided ourselves on nottalking about our work, but there it is.

My wife doesn’t like to watch the news duringNovember because November reminds herof her father and her bosses who did thingsto her in November during the years whenevery month for her was November.

I sit at my desk and force myself to readthe stories about November in the paper.Sometimes, I want to shout about Novemberbut the guys I work with go through their livesas if November never happened. I think theythink I’m crazy to worry so much about November.Sometimes, I wonder if they even know it’sNovember.

November, though, is no time to be quiet—not with wind whistling through the treesand the leaves and dead branches waitingto be cleared away.

Contributors

Thomas J. Erickson is the second-place winner of the Wisconsin People & Ideas 2018 Poetry Contest. Erickson is an attorney in Milwaukee, where he is a member of the Hartford Avenue Poets. His award-winning chapbook, The Lawyer Who Died in the Courthouse Bathroom, was published by Parallel Press in 2013.

Wisconsin People & Ideas is the Academy's quarterly magazine of contemporary Wisconsin thought and culture.